“Dearest?”
Elizabeth looked up from her novel with a start. After the morning she had spent with Darcy, her mind had not been exactly restful when she went to bed. She was not in the habit of reading herself to sleep, but tonight she had been desperate for a distraction. The novel - a romance - had been badly chosen. The protagonist was strikingly compelling, staggeringly handsome, and reminded Elizabeth exceedingly of her husband.
Hearing Jane’s voice was a relief. Elizabeth put the book aside at once and beckoned her sister in. Jane sat gingerly at the end of the bed, pulling off her slippers so she could tuck her feet under the edge of the blanket.
“May I speak to you, Lizzie?” she asked, stumbling a little over the formal request.
“Of course.” Lizzie was bewildered. There had never been any secrecy between them, and neither of them would ever refuse to let the other speak. Indeed, the intimate conversations they shared were often the highlight of their day, when they were growing up.
Jane smiled, but her eyes moved nervously to the adjoining door. “Are we alone? Is Mr. Darcy likely to come in?”
“No.” Elizabeth smiled reassuringly, relieved that this was the extent of her sister’s concern. She pushed herself a little further across the bed to give Jane more room to relax. Jane wriggled her way closer but still looked a little strained.
“It is about Mr. Darcy that I wish to speak. I would hate for him to overhear.”
Jane’s nature was to avoid causing pain at all costs. Even small pains, like embarrassment, were anathema to her. She feared that prying into Elizabeth’s life would be unkind but was terribly afraid that she would have to do it. A dark question was lurking in her belly, and she knew that if she did not ask her sister soon then she might burst.
“Lizzie, are you…well?”
Elizabeth breathed out in a rush. “Is that what you look so worried about? I am as strong as an ox, my love. When have I ever been unwell?”
“No, I do not mean… ugh.” Jane drew another deep breath and then closed her eyes. Keeping them squeezed tightly shut, she spoke through gritted teeth:
“Lizzie, I saw you in the woods today. You and Mr. Darcy were gone for so long that Georgiana and I were getting worried. So, I… I followed you. I saw you there, Lizzie. You were on the ground. He was holding you down and you were struggling and… and crying out… and… and then he was angry, and you were crying.”
Elizabeth went as white as a sheet. “Did… did you hear what we were talking about?”
All of Jane’s worst fears came true at the sight of her sister’s apparent terror. “No. I did not want him to see me. I feared that it would only make things worse. I ran back to the meadow. Do not worry - I did not say anything to Georgiana.”
“Nor to me, for I would have… Jane, why did you conceal this? You should have told me. You have been stricken with this all day and not breathed a word!”
“I have concealed far less than you.” Jane replied, trying to sound sharp but only achieving shrillness, “You did not tell me that he treats you so cruelly! That he is so… that he commits such…! Lizzie, I forced you into this marriage, and now I know how terrible it is for you!”
“You do not understand what you saw.” Elizabeth interrupted flatly, “We were… Jane, what you saw was…”
“You were crying.” Jane repeated stubbornly. Tears shone in her eyes.
It was ridiculous, yet so far from laughable. Elizabeth knew how deeply Jane cared for her, and how much guilt she felt for her part in her marriage to Darcy. None of the reassurances Lizzie had tried to make had comforted Jane. Any good news was treated with suspicion; any bad hints were believed in an instant. Now, Elizabeth saw, her sister had fallen into the same trap.
But how could she explain such a thing to her sister? To her innocent sister, who blushed even when people kissed each other on the cheek? And how could Jane understand it? Elizabeth knew for a fact that if she described the marital act to her sister, Jane would only be able to imagine the brutal drunkard who had ‘held her down’ in the woods. Or worse, perhaps she would imagine…
The thought hit Lizzie like a physical blow. She could suddenly see, clearly, the woods in her mind. There were two figures there, struggling in the dirt. The smaller one, crying out and sobbing with her fair hair tangling in the leaves, was Jane. Rearing over her writhing body, grunting and leering as he held her down, was Mr. Collins.
Such an awful sight!
And that was what Jane had thought she had seen happening toLizzie!
Elizabeth felt sick. She grasped Jane’s hand instinctively.
“Jane, you must listen to me. I am so, so sorry that you saw us. It must have been so horrible for you, thinking that I was… that he…” she shook her head in frustration and forced the words out, “Mr. Darcy was not hurting me, dearest. It doesn’t hurt. It feels good, and I like it. I was only crying because I was embarrassed afterwards. It’s all very new to me, you see.”
Jane stared at her, eyes huge with disbelief, and then slowly she realised that Elizabeth was telling the truth. She let out a great lungful of air and slumped back against the blankets, wiping her eyes with her hands and sobbing with relief.
Her cheeks flared scarlet when Lizzie tactfully explained some of what she called ‘the logistics’. Apparently, the clumsy, violent-looking struggling that Jane had witnessed was actually quite pleasant. From the way her sister lingered overlong on some of the details, Jane suspected that some parts of it wereverypleasant.
“I shall never be able to look poor Mr. Darcy in the eye again!” she cried, fingers fluttering up to cover her face. “Oh Lizzie, you must think me such a fool.”
Lizzie smiled wickedly, “Why are you thinking of my husband, dearest? Isn’t there somebody else you would rather imagine?”
